The ‘WEEK’ dated 12th April was a special
issue on Indian Railways. Many authors have
written nostalgically about the various aspects
of train travels of yesteryears. The issue
brought back the memories of dozens of such
travels between Margao Goa and Bengaluru
which we undertook during my four decades
of residence in Goa, out of which one always
remains etched in my mind.
During my early days in Goa, the track was
meter gauge and there was a daily train from
Vasco de gama to Bangalore, which arrived at
the Margao station at 10.40 in the morning.
We boarded the train at Margao. There was
no chance of getting anything edible - other
than ‘churmuri’ - till we reached Hubli and hence
we always carried our lunch. The train arrived
at Dharwar - where my in-laws stayed - around
four or five in the evening and stopped there
for a few minutes allowing us to handover a
packet of ‘pineapple cake’ from Marliz bakery
in Margao and receive a flask containing hot
coffee and a parcel of very much enjoyable
dinner, lovingly prepared by my mother in l
aw for her grandchildren. We usually travelled
by sleeper class but once, when my parents
were also travelling with us, I availed of the
LTC facility and we travelled by First class.
The first class compartment contained four
or five ‘coupes,’ each one a private room,
containing four very comfortable ‘berths’ and
having a door which opened onto a common
passage. This door could be locked from
inside. We were four adults and two children
and we had an entire coupe for ourselves.
Since my parents were with us, my wife
had packed an elaborate lunch and not the
usual ‘roTi - subzi’ or its equivalent.
It was nearing lunch time when the train
stopped for ‘crossing’ in a very small station
(probably built only for crossing facility)
called Sonaulim in the midst of western
ghats. The ‘station’ was just a room for t
he station master and there was no ‘platform’
as no passengers got in or out at Sonaulim.
On both sides of the station were houses for
the staff, two on each side, with their backyards
facing the railway track. There was a stream
running close by and lush greenery all around.
(It is one of my many un fulfilled wishes to live
in a surrounding like that, but that is apart
from the story).
As we sat waiting for the crossing, looking at
the beautiful scene out of the window, my wife’s
eyes fell on the grove of plantain saplings
planted in the backyard of one of the houses.
“It is lunch time, go get two plantain leaves
and we shall have a feast” she said. I was
reluctant. I had no idea how long the train
would halt there, there was no platform to alight
from the train and the plants obviously belonged
to the occupants of the house. I also said that
I don’t have a knife and it is not easy to get
the leaves without a knife.
My wife brushed aside my observations saying
that she knows that the train does not move
till the other train comes from the opposite
direction, handed me a knife (which had been
brought for the purpose of cutting apples)
and ordered ‘Go’. I was young enough to
jump on to the ground, sensible enough not
to fight in front of my parents, and hence
I jumped out, found an opening to crawl
through the fence, stealthily got in, cut two
leaves and returned without getting caught
and without damage to body, pride or leaves.
As the train started moving, we cut the leaves
in half to make four pieces, spread them on
two lower berths, sat crosslegged facing each
other, and savoured a delicious lunch of
flavoured rice (garnished with coriander and
cashew nuts), curds rice, pickles, papad and
even a sweet, all the while enjoying the
changing scenery of the ghats through the
windows of the slowly climbing train. My
father was very much pleased and the children
were delighted with the unexpected experience.
The lunch was followed by coffee made with
hot water (brought for mixing infant formula
for the younger kid) instant coffee and milk
powder and it has remained etched in my
memory - as one of the very pleasant
experiences - over the decades.
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